


O' TANnenbaum

by Kiros18



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Stuck in a Cabin, delayed flights, this is silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:27:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiros18/pseuds/Kiros18
Summary: “I’m so sorry sweetheart,” Armie says, his whole face looking like the epitome of regret and guilt. “Honey listen there’s been a storm--” Nick says in that voice Timmy recognizes from when shit goes from bad to worse and Nick tries to get it under control.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Nick Delli Santi/Armie Hammer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	O' TANnenbaum

**Author's Note:**

> I had the sudden urge to write something Christmas-related, so I came up with this dumb thing, sat down and wrote it in one go, proof-read it once and tadaaa! Oh, and if anyone should ask, I didn't come up with this stupid titel at all.

Timmy should’ve never agreed to this, he realizes to his horror. He should’ve put his foot down and said no when Armie had proposed this horrible idea. Should’ve told Nick to “please, back me up a little,” because Nick would’ve gotten some sense into Armie eventually, he always does. But no, Timmy had gone soft and agreed. Had looked at Nick for his reaction, and when Nick had sighed, his shoulders slumping in resignation, Timmy had agreed.

Eight days left until new years and Timmy have found himself in the middle of his biggest mistake of the whole fucking year.

Hurling his suitcase up the creaky steps that lead to an old -Armie would’ve no doubt used the word authentic instead- wooden porch attached to a just as dingy old cabin, Timmy huffs, a chill running through his body. The wind is picking up, making the large pines around him rustle and sway.

Patting his pockets, Timmy looks for the key with the pink label attached to the key chain. When he doesn’t find it in the pockets of his sweatpants, he grumbles and pulls off his gloves before he starts digging through his purse. He finds the key at the bottom, stuffed beneath an air pod case, two packets of gum, an old recipe, his chapstick and his passport. The latter falls to the ground as he digs up the key.

“Fuck,” Timmy curses, bending down to pick up his passport before he jams the key into the lock and pushes the door open. The groan it makes does nothing to lighten his spirits. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, pushing the door closed behind him.

What the hell is this place even? Timmy had thought that Armie would at least have rented something that wasn’t built before the last fucking world war. But no, and isn’t it just like Armie? To come up with stuff like this and send Timmy off on his own a whole day before he and Nick are able to join him? Isn’t it just like Armie to come up with spontaneous shit that -by the smell of this place- will give all three of them lung diseases before Christmas are even over?

Slumping against the wall in the entrance, Timmy pinches the place between his eyebrows. He’s being unfair. The true cause of his temper running wild right now is because he misses them. The real problem is that Timmy had to fly out here alone. Had to survive take-off without the presence of at least either Nick or Armie. And now, he’s hungry and exhausted, the cold weather has taken up permanent residency in his bones hours ago. And Nick isn’t here to rub him warm again, Armie isn’t here to cook them dinner.

Rummaging through the kitchen, Timmy finds out that it has at least been stocked up before he came. He supposes that a least he’s not completely forgotten and abandoned out here, then. Plus, the view from the kitchen window is beautiful. He can see the mountain, pines and a thin, fine layer of snow covering the landscape. Not that he’s going to admit this when Armie shows up. No way.

The bathroom is fine too, even though it smells just as humid as the rest of the place. The shower though is definitely too small for the three of them. Timmy doubts they’ll even be able to fit two of them in there. Sighing, he goes back to the entrance and picks up his bag, before checking out the bedrooms. Picking out the one with the biggest bed, Timmy throws his bag on top of it. Falls back down on it and sighs heavily. Checking his watch sighs again. If he goes to bed early, then tomorrow will come even sooner, and then he won’t have to wait long before Armie and Nick show up. They’re supposed to arrive in the morning. If Timmy is lucky, he won’t even have to get out of bed before they’re here.

By the time Timmy has eaten dinner (a rather depressing macaroni and cheese from a carton in the back of the cupboard,) Timmy is shivering, his teeth almost clattering. Eyeing the fireplace in the living room, Timmy debates whether to try and get the thing started or to just give up beforehand and go to bed. At least he brought his favourite pair of knitted socks. They always make him warm.

Deciding to give it a try, Timmy picks up some wood, placing it in the middle of the fireplace. After six failed attempts at making the damn thing burn, Timmy gives up.

If only Armie knew, Timmy thinks. If only he could see Timmy right now, freezing to death, then he would—then he would— _what?_ Shaking his head, Timmy mentally tells himself off for taking this out on Armie. Armie had planned this because he wanted the three of them to spend a nice Christmas together, with nothing to do but “ _fuck my boys in turns._ ” And truth be told, that had probably been the tipping point for Timmy. So yeah, it fucking sucks that he’s alone in this cold bed, in this creepy cabin with no prospect of fucking before tomorrow morning.

Digging through his bag to find his beloved knitted socks, Timmy groans out in frustration when he comes up with nothing. _Nothing,_ but a red Christmas stocking with a print of Rudolf the fucking reindeer on it. _Of course,_ his socks had to be in Nick’s suitcase instead of Timmy’s bag. _Of course,_ Timmy ended up with this hideous thing instead.

So, Timmy ends up pulling on an extra sweater before he crawls into the bed. Ends up tossing and turning for what feels like hours, but is probably only thirty minutes, before he leans over the side of the bed and pulls forth the Christmas stocking.

“Ridiculous,” he grumbles, as he stuffs both of his already socked feet into the stocking. He looks like the Christmas version of the little mermaid, and no, he’s not kidding. This is his last resort at getting some warmth back into his feet. It’s very likely a matter of life or death.

* * *

The next morning, Timmy wakes up without the stocking on his feet. He must’ve kicked it off in his sleep. To his big regret, he realizes that it’s way past ten, and his bed is still empty.

Alright. Maybe they’re just a little late. It’s fine.

Getting out of bed, Timmy takes a look out the window. And would you freaking believe it- the whole place is covered in dunes of snow, heavy blankets of white covering the landscape. This, Timmy thinks to his horror, looks like a clear sign of delayed traffic. Letting his face hit the cold window, Timmy tries to calm down. It’s not a catastrophe -yet- Armie and Nick would never leave him out here alone. They wouldn’t.

Going back to bed, Timmy stares out the window at the offensive snow.

An hour later, Timmy’s phone lights up with an incoming Facetime call from Nick. Swiping at the screen, Timmy sigh in relief when the faces of both his boyfriends come into view. “Did you just wake up baby?” Nick asks, his brown eyes scanning the screen. “No,” Timmy answers, pulling the blankets up a little higher. “But I’m cold. When will you be here? Hey, are you still at the airport?” zooming in the surroundings behind Armie and Nick, Timmy already knows that this is bad news. “I’m so sorry sweetheart,” Armie says, his whole face looking like the epitome of regret and guilt. “Honey listen there’s been a storm--” Nick says in that voice Timmy recognizes from when shit goes from bad to worse and Nick tries to get it under control. “I know,” Timmy cuts in. “—and all of the flights have been delayed.”

Stomach sinking, Timmy closes his eyes and groans. “Oh. That’s—hey, how long have you been stranded?” Timmy asks, already forgetting his own shit-situation. Armie looks tired and Timmy’s heart soars. “For hours,” Armie groans, at the same time as Nick glazes over “not that long, don’t worry.” They give each other a look, and Timmy wants to kiss them both.

“I’ll come back,” Timmy says. This was a fiasco, surely Armie will agree to that. “No, no, no. We’re coming Timmy, we just don’t know when,” Armie says, moving closer to the screen as if that will bring him closer to Timmy. Timmy understands that sentiment wishes he could be closer to Armie too. “Are you sure?” Timmy asks apprehensively, knowing fully well that if Armie and Nick can’t come to him, he probably can’t get to them either. “Absolutely. Stay right where you are,” Nick says, putting an arm around Armie.

The good thing, Timmy supposes, is that at least they have each other. At least, Armie’s got Nick to comfort him. Timmy will just have to wait until he can join them.

“I miss you,” Timmy whines, his bottom lip jutting out. “I know, we miss you too baby,” Nick says, hand brushing up and down on Armie’s bicep. “I’m sorry Timmy, I know this is my fault,” Armie apologizes.

And yeah, Timmy has spent the majority of his time here blaming Armie, planning out a whole case of arguments as to why Armie should never be allowed to plan their next holiday, but who the fuck is he kidding.

“The storm is not your fault,” Timmy says, eyes going soft. “Told him already,” Nick says.

“Yeah, you listen to Nick. Come on baby. I love you,” Timmy says, trying with all of his might to make the dull look in Armie’s eyes disappear. “I love you too,” Armie mumbles, a small smile appearing. “Give each other a kiss for me and get here as soon as you can,” Timmy says, feeling his own gut twist with regret that he can’t do the kissing himself. “We will,” Nick promises, placing a kiss on Armie’s forehead.

Timmy spends most of the day in bed. For a fleeting moment, he considers going outside. It’s cold though, and the prospect of getting lost and dying from hypothermia out there doesn’t really speak to him. So, he stays in bed, reading and grumbling. This was supposed to be a nice trip. They were supposed to get a fire started, get the place nice and warm, and Armie was supposed to make them dinner, while Nick and Timmy would watch and share the feeling of being the luckiest guys on earth. But here he is, alone, waiting for someone who might not even be able to make it in time for Christmas. It sucks.

When the world outside goes dark and the only light left is the one coming from the moonlight reflecting in the white snow and the warm lights from inside the cabin, Timmy feels utterly sorry for himself. Mostly sorry for Armie and Nick, who are probably still at the airport. He doesn’t even need to be there to know how Armie is most likely fed up with the whole thing by now, his consciousness eating him up. How Nick is trying to keep a clear head and find a solution while worrying about Timmy at the same time. Timmy hopes that Nick will remember that head scratches usually help Armie calm down.

When the time on his phone says eleven thirty pm, Timmy is still not sleeping. He’s lying awake, eyes screwed shut. Not that he thinks it’ll help him fall asleep, but because of the shades dancing across the room. Rationally, he knows that it’s just the pines outside the window swaying in the wind, but that does nothing to calm down the part of his brain that thinks its giant monster. The creaking of the cabin, the groaning of the roof and the wind howling only fuels his fears. God, he hates this.

The stocking on his feet isn’t even doing the job.

All of a sudden, when he thinks that he’ll finally be able to fall into a slumber, there’s rustling outside. It sounds like someone is walking in the snow. Timmy tenses up, suddenly fully awake. Then, he hears a voice. Hushed, bickering voices. When there’s a knock on the door, Timmy almost screams in pure fright. Scooting down in the bed, Timmy hides beneath his blanket, readying himself to be robbed. When there’s a second knock on the door, Timmy is just about to scream, _fuck off!_ When a voice he knows stops him. “Timmy? You in there?” It’s Armie, and when the sound of knocking picks up again, Timmy throws back the blankets. “Armie?” he calls, his voice high pitched from being tense. Getting out of bed, Timmy forgets all about the stocking on his feet, which makes him fall down on the floor with a thud and a groaned, “fuck.”

“Timmy? Are you alright?” it’s Nick and he sounds strained. Pulling the ridiculous stocking off of his feet, Timmy gets back up, hurrying towards the door. Trying to figure out how to unlock the god damned thing, he hears Nick again. “If he doesn’t open the door, you’re going to smash the window over there.” Then, Armie’s voice, “don’t say that he’s fine.”

“How do you know that? He hates being alone in the dark--”

“I thought we agreed to stop blaming me.”

“Yes, but maybe if you had just brought the extra damned ke--”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Timmy says, finally pulling the door open. “Timmy,” Armie breathes, relief clear all over his face as he drops the bags from his hands, taking a step forward to hug Timmy close. “Oh, thank God,” Nick says, dropping his bags too. Then, there are two pairs around Timmy. “I didn’t think you would make it,” Timmy mumbles, Armie’s neck muffling his words. “There’s nothing that could ever keep the two of us from our boy,” Armie says, squeezing Timmy tight.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Timmy says, finally feeling all of the muscles in his body loosen up. “Me too sweetheart,” Nick says, kissing Timmy on the cheek, a hand running through his curls.

When Nick starts putting their bags away and shuts the door, Timmy stays in Armie’s embrace. “I’m sorry for being mad at you,” he says. “Were you really mad at me?” Armie asks, nuzzling his cold nose into the crook of Timmy’s neck. “Inside of my head, yeah,” Timmy admits. Pulling back, he stares into Armie’s eyes. “But mostly because I had looked forward to being here with you.” Smiling, Armie cups Timmy’s cheek in the palm of his hand. “We’re here now baby, don’t worry.”

“He’s been worried sick,” Nick says as he walks by them. “Nearly started yelling at the poor flight attendant at one point.”

“You didn’t. Did you?” Timmy asks a stern look on his face. “No, I didn’t,” Armie rolls his eyes before he leans down and kisses the tip of Timmy’s nose. It makes him giggle, and when he feels Nick’s arms snake around him from behind, effectively trapping Timmy between his two favourite persons on earth, Timmy has faith that Christmas will be nice after all.

Timmy complains to Armie about the fireplace not working. Armie just furrows his eyebrows. Says, “that’s odd,” and then proceeds to do the exact same thing Timmy had tried a hundred times, only this time, the firework is lit in a matter of seconds. So, fucking typical Armie and his magical hands. But it’s alright because Armie uses his magical hands to make them a midnight snack, and just like Timmy had imagined, the whole place is warming up, suddenly feeling cosy and homey. And just like he imagined, Nick pulls him into his lap as they sit in a big armchair, sipping tea and finding comfort in each other. When Timmy falls asleep, he doesn’t even need his knitted socks. The shadows look like pine trees again and the sounds of the wind help him fall asleep, two pairs of strong arms holding him tight.

When he wakes up on the 25th, it’s to the feeling of his cock being swallowed down Armie’s throat, Nick’s lips already on his mouth.

As Timmy moans and intertwines his hand with Armie’s, he can’t remember why he thought that this would be a bad idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [Kiros18](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kiros18)


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